Jeeves and Wooster: A Murder Mystery
by Rhana
Summary: Again in the U.S. of A., the lovable Bertie Wooster and the unforgettable Jeeves find themselves entangled in the heart of a murder. At first it seems easy to crack the case, but soon even Jeeves finds himself to be in a boatload of trouble.


**Jeeves and Wooster: A murder mystery**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Jeeves and Wooster. However, I do own this story, so please, read and review if you can. It is much appreciated, I assure you.

Alrighty, my first Jeeves and Wooster fic! I'll admit, I've had a desire to write about this series for quite a long time, but only now have I finally gotten the will to put it on paper. Er, well, in words. Anyways, I won't keep you.

This is my first murder mystery. Please keep this in mind when you review, I'm new at it. However, I think you'll find it fairly delightful. If not, please notify me otherwise. Thank you and God Bless.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 1: Openness**

It was late in the quiet of the night when he heard it – a scream. The gender was indeterminate, but you could feel it - it was pure, genuine terror. He raced out of the room, ready to punch out the guts of the man who was forcing the lady - or whatever it was. That was just his guess. New York these days, you know. Here in the heart of the '20's, you really never knew what to expect next.

He ran down the fire escape towards the voice – he had heard it through an open window. There were muffled sobs and hoarse shouts, and he could distinguish the sound of breaking glass. His steps quickened as he neared his destination, and the shouts became louder and louder. A thudding sound, and then a moment of silence. Was he beating her? Surely no one else noticed this injustice? A hiss of pain, a gasp of fear – why was he not there yet? He got down to the fifth floor, then found that he was actually moving _away_ from the source. He had passed it. Cursing, he tackled the stairs again, furthered by another shout of agony. Finally, he reached the apartment of terrors, and knocked on the door. Seeing that no one would answer, he broke in, ready for anything.

The first thing he noticed was the electric lamp broken on the floor. He unplugged it, preventing an electrical fire. Another thud. His eyes darted towards the sound – directly ahead of him. He ran into the room, armed only with a knife he had purloined from the kitchen. More glass breaking. He sidled along the wall towards the open door and peered in. What he saw he could not say, for as he opened his mouth to scream, a chair flew through the air and hit him dead in the face.

* * *

"_Doctor, do you think he'll pull through?"_

"_I don't know, Nurse. He doesn't look good."_

"_Should I get him a sedative? He seems to be coming out of it."_

"_Yes, Nurse. I can't have my patients waking up in the middle of surgery."_

"_Doctor, the patient has a visitor. He claims to be a relative of the man..?"_

"_Tell him to wait, he's on the operating table. That chair hit him square across the face pretty good."_

"_Yes, Doctor."_

"_Doctor, I've got the sedative!"_

"Bring it here, Nurse."

"_He looks like he's trying to mouth something. What do you think he's saying?"_

"_I don't know and I don't care. But he better remember it for later, when he's called to testify in court."_

"_You mean about the murder of the congressman?"_

"_That's exactly what I mean, Nurse."_

…

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"How terrible." He said, noting the lack of sufficient sugar in his tea. He reached for a cube and plopped another one in, much to Jeeves' disgust. Bertrum Wooster was a man of luxury, and that included everything from the brim of his hat down to the tips of his very English toes.

"I do say, I can't think of a worse way of going out."

"Agreed, sir." replied his personal manservant, currently rummaging through Bertie's drawers. Already he had pulled out a garish neckcloth, barely passable as a bowtie; an insipid hat, floppy and worn out of shape from loving overuse; and an overly ornate belt, that one would assume a lady would wear had it been a smaller size. Reginald Jeeves was a man of practicality, and that included everything from the ends of his well-coiffed hair to down to the polished tips of his blue-blooded Anglo-Saxon toes. "Is it not excessive to have four helpings of sugar in one solitary cup of tea?"

"No, Jeeves, it is not excessive, for I, Bertrum Wooster, have devised a plan to solve this murder, and to collect for myself that 5 grand reward."

Jeeves' eyes narrowed, only slightly, taking in what his master said. Then with a slight nod of his head, he said, "Very good, sir."

"Oh, don't 'very good, sir' me, Jeeves," Bertie said with a wave of his hand, "You know something, and I know it. That you know something, I mean. Not actually what you know. Just the fact that you know it."

Jeeves gave Wooster a look that very possibly bordered on the edge of annoyance.

"Oh, nevermind it, Jeeves. Get me the morning paper. I've got a load to do today and I'm going to bally well avoid all of it if I can."

Eyes crinkling, Jeeves smiled politely as he handed Wooster the morning paper. "Very good, sir. Would you like me to disconnect the phone?"

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Well, what did you think? Let me know and you can make tomorrow's stories even better… today. Just a click – even an anonymous review would be wonderful.

This is just the beginning. What does Jeeves know that Wooster does not? Could he be the murderer? Surely not… (waggles eyebrows)

Keep reading :) and God Bless you always!


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